


This is Probably Stupid, But

by elizajane



Series: Ordinary Things [3]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: College, Epistolary, Love Letters, M/M, Not Beta Read, Pre-Relationship, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 8,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28296459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizajane/pseuds/elizajane
Summary: Dustin goes to college. Steve doesn't. Dustin writes Steve letters and sends them. Steve writes Dustin letters in return and doesn't (send them). It all works out in the end.Apologies for the slow-motion roll out of the final chapters. ~gestures at pandemic, coup, etc.~ I promise the letters will be completed. In the meantime, the rest of the series does involve Steve/Dustin get together goodness.
Relationships: Steve Harrington/Dustin Henderson
Series: Ordinary Things [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079279
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8
Collections: Twelvetide Drabbles 2020





	1. Violet (Dustin)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crowgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/gifts).



> For my wife Crowgirl, who began wriiting the fic that comes after the letters.

October 9, 1989

Dear Steve,

This is probably stupid, but I saw a guy walking across campus today that I thought for a split second was you. Something about the way he was walking. And the purple vest he was wearing. You’d look rad in that shade of violet, man. And I thought ... I don’t know. That you’d maybe driven down to Terre Haute to see how things are going? But I know your busy with work and all so it's not fair to wish you had come to visit as a surprise. It's just seeing the guy made me think of you and how maybe you'd be interested to know how I'm doing here. So I'm writing a letter.

Things are going pretty well so far. I like Developmental Psych a lot, which is required for the Education major, and Intro to Computer Science which is a lot of stuff I already know but they wouldn’t let me enroll in anything more advanced in my first semester. My other three classes are gen ed requirements: Freshman Writing, Spanish, Stats. My roommate Ken and I are in Stats together. He’s studying behind me, on his bed, right now: I can tell because he has this really annoying habit of clicking his ballpoint pen in and out while he reads. My mom taps her pencil on the kitchen table while she does the crossword puzzles and I swear this is infinitely worse. I don't know how people share bedrooms with siblings for eighteen years without committing murder.

How are things in Hawkins? Did you make enough at the dealership over the summer to rent an apartment in that building we drove by back in July? It looked like a cool place. At least, like you said better than over your parents' garage.

Anyway. I should go. The dining hall opens soon and if I want pizza that’s anything like fresh I have to get there early. And then I have a work-study shift in the computer lab (!!!) starting at 6.

Your friend (I hope),

Dustin


	2. Violet (Steve)

November 12, 1989

Hi Dustin, 

Thanks for your letter.  ~~ I’ve read it a lot since it came. ~~ Obviously it wasn’t me you saw on campus (I haven’t been to Indiana State since my mom took a summer class in accounting there one year when I was little and she’d take me with her because we couldn’t afford a sitter … the professor was this older lady who smelled of Marlboros used to give me cinnamon tic tacs if I behaved) but I wish it was. I keep seeing you, too, around town here in Hawkins. I know it’s not really you and no, since I know you’ll worry, it’s not anything weird with the Upside Down or anything like that. That’s all been quiet since you left, more or less. It’s just that you  not being here is a gap that my  ~~ heart ~~ brain wants to fill in, I guess.

Your classes sound cool, especially the psychology class. It's amazing how smart babies are, you know? My cousin Trish had her newborn baby Caitlin with her when she stopped by last Sunday after church and you could  see that kid's brain working things out. We played this game where Caity would drop her rubber duck and I would pick it up and she would drop it again and I would pick it up again and Trish told me not to encourage her but you could tell Caity was working out that gravity was a thing, you know? 

I don't have the money yet for my own place. They ask for first and last month’s rent plus a deposit. I've been thinking about getting a second job -- pizza delivery or something. 

Steve

P.S. I bought a purple tie at J.C. Penney on Saturday because you said I’d look good in violet.  ~~ It’s pretty gay though so ~~ But my dad would say it’s not assertive enough to sell cars so I won’t wear it unless you come to visit. 


	3. Slate (Dustin)

November 27, 1989

Dear Steve, 

I learned from my  mom , when I was home for Thanksgiving, that you helped her put down the new slate path in the back garden. You didn’t have to do that man, that was really nice of you. And she said you wouldn’t let her pay you, just feed you lunch, so now I know why you don’t have that money for an apartment yet. You’re too busy helping all the single mothers of Hawkins out with their home improvement projects  for free . You can’t pay a security deposit in Mom’s Chef Boyardee. 

I stopped by your house on Friday but Mrs. Harrington said you were at work. And when I drove by the dealership you looked busy with this guy with his bored teenage daughter and I’d told my mom she’d have the car back by three so she could make it to her book club so I couldn’t wait. And then I had to catch the bus back to campus so I could work on Saturday. I’m sorry if you were disappointed not to see me though I guess you haven’t written back to my last letter so maybe you’re not. 

Nah. Just kidding. I’m gonna keep writing whether you answer me or not. Because I know sometimes you like to be the person who sits and listens. You gotta let me know if this isn’t working for you though, okay man? Just -- a postcard or a phone call or something. You can tell my mom the next time you’re over at our house to help her change out the light bulbs and she can pass the message along. 

And I’ll be home at Christmas so you better make time to do a movie or something. 

Your friend, 

Dustin


	4. Slate (Steve)

November 30, 1989

Hi Dustin, 

~~ Don’t stop writing.  ~~

Don't stop writing. I like getting your letters. I mean, it's only been two so far but it would be cool if you wrote more. I hope you do. How's Developmental Psychology going? Do you work with little kids for real -- like do experiments and shit? I think that would freak me out because of everything that happened back in high school. Even if I knew the experiment wasn't supposed to hurt them. That's what every scientist thinks when they start out right? How do you know you won't get it wrong? But I trust your bullshit detector. And so if you're involved you'll do everything you can to keep those kids safe.

I saw you drive by my dad's the day after Thanksgiving. It hurt that you didn't stay -- I didn't know about the book club and thought you just got bored waiting for me to finish with Mr. Morris. I was angry, man. And even though now I know why ... it still hurts. But I get it. You're busy. You got places to be that aren't Hawkins anymore. I just wish … I liked hearing about your plans, before you left. You have awesome plans, and I know you're gonna do all those things we talked about, and it … hurt to have you drive away because I don't want to be the loser who gets left behind because he's too stupid to keep up, you know?

Today I put in an application at that Slater Studios apartment complex we drove by last summer. I wore my violet tie when I went in to drop off the paperwork and I think the girl in the front office thought I was cute. Maybe she'll put in a good word for me.

-Steve


	5. Crimson (Dustin)

December 3, 1989

Dear Steve,

I should be using this work-study shift in the computer lab to work on my final project for Intro to Comp Sci but panicking students keep interrupting me with questions about jammed printers and DOS commands so I've given up. Writing you is easier to pick up and put down; I'm talking to you in my head all the time anyway. 

We had a dorm Christmas party last night. Some of the girls on the second floor organized it. There was an ugly sweater contest and a secret Santa gift exchange and someone had rented  _ A Christmas Story _ to watch on the TV in the basement lounge. I had this guy Ed in the secret Santa. We were supposed to shop only at the thrift stores near campus and spend less than $10. I found him two collectable  _ Star Wars  _ glasses -- score! 

Tiffany from the 4th floor drew my name and she got me this board game she found at Goodwill called  _ Who Killed Aunt Cora?  _ which is this murder mystery game the guys and I are gonna have to try over Christmas break. You could come play too? But I also meant what I said in my last letter about a movie or something. It would be cool to hang out just the two of us. 

Ken won the sweater contest. He started out with this crimson sweater he found at the Salvation Army and then used puff paint and glitter to paint on this murdered gingerbread man with a bite out of his side, bleeding out red glittery blood. It was one of the tackiest things you’ve ever seen and it shed glitter everywhere. I feel like we’ll both be cleaning glitter out of our bedsheets on graduation day in May ‘93 even if we haven’t roomed together for three years. 

See you soon, 

Dustin


	6. Crimson (Steve)

December 11, 1989

Hi Dustin, 

I hate the Christmas season so fucking much. It’s the Christmas lights, you know? They’re everywhere and they make me twitchy and claustrophobic. I see them out of the corner of my eyes  watching me. And I have nightmares about you trying to talk to me with the lights, only all of them are red, and then they break and start to bleed trickles of crimson blood down the hideous wallpaper in my bedroom before I wake up in a cold sweat and I asked Joyce one time did the nightmares ever get better and she just said keep a pack of cigarettes on hand for the really bad nights so I guess that was a no. 

When I move into my own place I’m never putting up any Christmas lights. I got approved for a studio apartment -- they called me today. A basement unit off the laundry room. It won’t be available until January 15th but the guy who owns the place is in my dad’s bowling league so he must figure if I’m ever late with the rent he’ll be able to give Dad a call. It usually sucks how everyone in Hawkins knows my dad, and thinks he’s awesome, but without a credit history or any previous landlord it helps. Stan, at Domino’s Pizza, said he gave me a good reference too. So they called around. Anyway. And they’re giving me $50/month off the rent if I shovel the sidewalks after it snows this winter. So that’s cool. 

I got your letter about the Christmas party and you’re never gonna read this so I can say I’m fucking jealous of this guy Ed who gets  _ Star Wars _ glasses from you after it was me who went to the drive-in movie marathon of all three last summer. That was special, man. What did Ed do, to deserve those? 

See you soon, 

Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [These are the glasses Steve and Dustin are talking about](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/147281850284106888/). They were a promo that Burger King and Coca Cola ran together in 1983. My brother had a few that he found, in the 1990s, when we used to haunt antique malls as children.


	7. Tangerine (Dustin)

December 17, 1989

Dear Steve,

So we have a gecko in our room now. His name is Kumquat and I promise I triple checked to make sure he won't grow into another Dart. He belongs to Ken's girlfriend, Stacey, who left for her Christmas break today and brought him over, terrarium and all, because Ken's parents are missionaries in Taiwan so he'll be staying on campus for winter break. Him and Quat. Quat is a tangerine leopard gecko which means he's bright orange with a white snout and tail that have black spots. He's pretty cute and so far hasn't shown any interest in eating anything but mealworms.

I'm SO CLOSE to the end of the semester. I've got my Stats final on Thursday and a final paper due on Friday at 9am before I catch the bus to Hawkins. My mom works a full day Friday -- do you want to grab lunch when I get in? We could meet at the McDonald's by the bus station or you could pick me up and we could go wherever. 

You probably won't write back but my bus gets in at 12:43pm and you've got the phone number for the dorm floor phone if you ever decide to use it.

-Dustin 


	8. Tangerine (Steve)

December 19, 1989

Hi Dustin,

I don't care if it's a gecko you having anything like that in you room freaks me out. I wish you wouldn't. Please tell me Ken return it to his girlfriend after winter break?? 

I called your dorm today as soon as I read your letter, to say I'd pick you up for lunch tomorrow, but stupid Ed answered. I lied and told him I was your older brother. It felt weird to tell him we're friends. Not because it's weird to be your friend. I just didn't want him to be a jerk about it. I don't know why he would be but anyway I asked him to tell you Steve would be picking you up at the station so I hope he passes on the message. 

S.


	9. Chocolate (Dustin)

January 6, 1990

Dear Steve,

I'm writing, as you requested, to report that Kumquat has been returned to Stacey. So there’s no danger of him eating my face off in the night or stealing from my emergency stash of 3 Musketeers bars. I’m teasing but I know you were worried. I’m glad you’re looking out for me, even at college. It feels … Better than it would, if you weren’t. 

They have soft serve ice cream in the dining hall every night and I get chocolate with chocolate sprinkles on it probably more than Mr. Simms our old gym teacher would approve of but whatever I’ll hopefully never see him again and the chocolate soft serve makes me think of all the times I’d do my homework at a table at Scoops nursing a coke and and hoping you’d have time on break to come hang out for a few minutes. You always acted like I was ridiculous, probably doing it for the free ice cream you always brought me, but it was just … cool to be where you were and get a chance to catch up, you know? 

Anyway. It was good to see you on break. You should write and tell me all about your new apartment (!) when you finally move in. I know you probably won’t. It’s okay. You can invite me over for the grand tour. I'm gonna try to make it back to Hawkins for Mom's birthday in February (shh -- don't say anything -- it's a surprise.)

D. 


	10. Chocolate (Steve)

January 21, 1990 

Hi Dustin, 

So I’m in my new place. It doesn’t feel real yet, partly because it’s only been like a week and it still feels kinda like staying at a motel and partly because everyone in my life seems to be waiting for me to fail and move home. Like I’m not the one who went out and got a second job and saved up for first and last  AND the deposit and put in the application and agreed to a basement unit and shoveling snow so that I could afford it. Stan keeps cracking jokes about how I'll get tired of living on pizza and my mom's already stopped by three times with leftovers. I do know how to work a stove, you know?

The TV reception is shit down here but if I push the table up under the window near the kitchenette and put the TV right under the window well I get most of the basic channels. I've been watching "The French Chef" with Julia Child, this famous lady who is American but learned how to cook in France and teaches you how to make all sorts of things. The other night I learned how to make chocolate mousse and wished you were here so I could make you some. It would have been just like old times at Scoops … only better.

Thanks again for the  _ Star Wars  _ glasses. They make this place feel less like some place I'm just staying and more like actually mine. Since you gave  me the complete set I can't even stay mad about you giving Stupid Ed the two duplicates. 

-Steve


	11. Emerald (Dustin)

March 17, 1990

Dear Steve,

Happy St. Patrick's Day! I forgot to wear anything green for my first class of the day (Spanish) and got pinched a lot. It would be nice if undergraduates students were mature beyond petty harassment of their peers but that is clearly too much to hope for. I went back to my room before lunch and got that green hooded sweatshirt you let me borrow back in February that ended up in my duffel bag -- so thanks a second time for letting me use it!

Thanks too for letting me crash on your futon so I could surprise my mom. Plus it was fun to see your place. Don't let anyone convince you that you shouldn't be proud of it, okay? Promise me? 'Cause you've already made it feel like …  lived in. Like a place people want to hang out in. At least. A place I definitely want to hang out in. 

How's the jade plant doing? I could tell you were worried you'd kill my housewarming present but dude: this guy on my floor, Rich, has one and despite being the most negligent plant owner in the world this year his is still alive so I think you're safe. 

It looks like I've got a job lined up at the library this summer, working at the tech center, so I'll be staying here in Terre Haute. Kinda sucks since I was hoping to see everyone … and my mom … and you. But they pay $9/hr and I can't afford to pass up the money or the experience. You'll have to drive down to visit sometime. (Or multiple times?) 

Your friend,

Dustin


	12. Emerald (Steve)

March 23, 1990

Hi D.

I went out on a date tonight with this girl, Becky, who works at the office supply store that's next to the dealership. We get all our supplies from them and Dad sends me to pick up the orders and it was obvious whenever I went in she was waiting for me to make a move. And finally there wasn't any reason  not to, you know? I would have been a real jerk if I  didn't ask her out. She'd think I was avoiding her. Which I was … but I wasn't. I mean, not because I didn't like her as a person. I just don't feel much like dating right now. But she wouldn't have understood that and thought I was just trying not to hurt her feelings so I thought maybe if I take her out and she sees for herself it's not worth it … problem solved.

The thing is, we went to dinner at Morelli's -- where you and I had lunch back in February -- and all I could think about was how much easier it was sitting across from you at that table in the corner by the wine display. How we hung out for, like, three hours and multiple desserts and too many of those tiny espresso coffees and you told me all about your classes and the kids in your dorm and the places you hang out in Terre Haute. It was like getting one of your letters only  better because I’ve always loved watching you tell stories. It’s the best. 

It freaked me out, sitting there eating my chicken cacciatore, realizing I was thinking about  you instead of listening to what Becky was saying. She was wearing this emerald green mohair sweater that was the same color as that hooded sweatshirt you stole from me on your visit and all I could see any time I looked over at her was the was you looked, curled up asleep on my futon when I got up on Saturday morning to make coffee. Buried under the blankets, snoring, with that curl -- the one I always want to reach out and tuck behind your ear -- smooshed at this weird angle across your forehead … 

Like I said, I’m in a weird place right now. I think Becky got that because she thanked me for dinner but didn’t angle for a kiss or anything and let me drop her off in front of her place without asking me if I was coming in. I hope it won’t be awkward or anything next time I have to go pick up office supplies. 

S.


	13. Obsidian (Dustin)

September 18, 1990

Dear Steve, 

A group of us in the Ed program drove up to Chicago over the weekend and spent most of Saturday at the Field Museum and Sunday at the Museum of Science and Industry. It was sort of a school assignment -- we got extra credit for taking one of the educational tours and writing it up for class -- but also a cool chance to explore the museums. I hadn’t been to either of them since elementary school. Did they take everyone to the Museum of Science back when you were in 5th grade? I think it was that trip that made me want to become a scientist. That and  _ 3-2-1-Contact _ . 

I bought you the little cat statue (enclosed) at the Field Museum gift shop. It’s carved from obsidian. I know you were disappointed your landlord said no pets in the building. That’s some bullshit. This one can keep you company until you can adopt a real one. 

You should come down for Homecoming weekend, man. Ken and Stacey already have plans and it’s like everyone is already paired up except me. Since football sucks and everyone will just be making out at the tailgate parties or totally trashed I’ll probably spend the night writing code at the computer lab with all the other losers haha. Come down and save me from myself. We could rent some of those classic Hepburn and Tracy movies you like and make a pan of brownies without having to share with the rest of the floor. 

Think about it? 

D.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [3-2-1-Contact](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/3-2-1_Contact) (1980-1988) ran on PBS. I will date myself by saying I still remember the theme song!


	14. Obsidian (Steve)

September 25, 1990

Hi Dustin, 

I called today, to thank you for the little cat, and to say I could drive down for Homecoming weekend. I don’t know what to do with how  happy you seem to spend time with me. Maybe it would sound dumb to you, if I said it like that, but back when you were a kid I used to think it was hero worship that kept you showing up and figured it would wear off when you grew up and discovered you were the  actual  cool one and I am very much … not.

You're the one who got into college, for fuck's sake, and you do shit like build radios and program computers and you have all these plans to teach science to other smart kids like you. I'm never going to be any cooler than I was my junior year of high school. And I'll probably be working for my dad and delivering pizzas and living by myself with no cat (except the one you gave me) when I'm forty.

When I came down to see you in June, and you showed me around campus, I tried to imagine being a college student and I couldn't picture it. I don't even know what I'd study … the only class I ever genuinely liked in high school was that one semester social science class they called "life skills." But being able to do stuff like balance your checkbook and read a recipe and change the oil in your car isn't shit they send you to college for. But I also don't know what else to do with it except work for my dad here in Hawkins and that … doesn't feel … 

It doesn't feel like something that will keep you happy spending time with me. 

-Steve


	15. Lemon (Dustin)

11/13/90 Hi Steve, Saw this postcard at a bookstore in Chicago this weekend and it made me think of Roman Holiday, and watching it with you. See you at Thanksgiving? -D. 

Image: Vintage-style Vespa in lemon yellow. 


	16. Lemon (Steve)

December 3, 1990

Hi Dustin,

This week, we moved Granny Olsen into a nursing home. She’s been on her own since Granddad died three years ago and the house was just too much for her to care for -- plus she was lonely. Mom and I went up to Goshen to help, and Aunt Patty too. Gran was pretty organized but it still took the three of us most of the week to get her settled and clear to old place out for Aunt Patty to put it on the market.

Gran's new apartment is about the same size as mine, with lemon yellow walls and sunflower curtains she says are hideous (they are) so she's going to replace them. There's a dining room where she can have three meals a day and all sorts of social clubs; she'd already been to bingo night the second day we were there. 

There's a hair salon right in the nursing home, on the first floor, and on Friday morning I took Gran to have her hair set while Mom and Aunt Patty went over all of the next-of-kin paperwork and stuff with the nursing staff. She asked was I seeing anyone special (she always does) but when I told her no, I hadn't much seen the point of dating recently, she looked at me, sharp, from under the hair dryer, and finally nodded.

“You know, you remind me of Dot at your age,” she said, patting my hand. 

"What?" I said, remembering Dot was her sister who had … runaway? She'd left the family at some point during the Great Depression or the war and no one really ever talked about her. I only knew my grandma had a sister at all because of the family photos with her and her three brothers, her, and Dot, and my great-grandparents that my mom has on the living room wall. 

"Dot was never interested in getting married either," Gran said. "Always running about with her girlfriends she was. It was to L.A. she went, when she left, to work in one of the shipyards during the war. But you know, I think the real reason she left was that Lily Stetler had gone four months before that, to work in one of the government labs. Dot was real fond of Lily." 

According to Gran, their parents refused any contact after Dot left and by the time Gran was old enough to try and track her down she couldn't find her. 

I can't write the words here, even in this letter that you'll never read, but Gran made it feel real, last week, like … I dunno. Something that I could have in me because of my family and not something weird and twisted and wrong. Like … maybe my life could make sense like it is instead of … being a failure. If my 83yo grandma can look at me and see I'm … the way I am … and be almost … proud? That's gotta count for something.

Yours,

Steve


	17. Lilac (Dustin)

December 8, 1990

Hi Steve, 

I’ll call you about this tonight so I don’t know why I’m writing, except the letters have kind of become a thing haven’t they? Next weekend I should probably be studying for my Chemistry final but I know my shit and I can get everything I need to brush up on done before Friday so I thought … would you like to meet up in Chicago for the day on Saturday? I could show you the Field Museum (how can your parents never have taken you???) and we could buy roasted nuts from the street vendors and see the Christmas windows on the Mile … which are cheesy but what’s Christmas without a little cheesy, right? 

I need to pick up some fancy lilac eau de toilette for my mom from the Crabtree & Evelyn on Michigan Ave. I bet you could find something for your mom there too. That store is full of the stuff moms like. We could do Chicago deep dish for dinner and drink enough Mountain Dew to fuel the drive back the same day. I've done it with the guys here a few times. You feel it the next day but -- worth it. 

Things are mostly okay here. I’ve pulled a few late nights like everyone this time of year (I know I know  _ mom _ ) and had to restrain a few grad students from breaking computers or printers or Xerox machines in the computer lab since the Thanksgiving break. 

Last Tuesday a group of us went to a screening of the documentary of “Common Threads,” that film about the AIDS memorial quilt. The Gay & Lesbian Resource Center here on campus is doing a whole series of educational events that started with a vigil on December 1st, World AIDS Day. Dave, that guy I told you about from our dorm -- who's been super active in ACT UP Indianapolis -- and his boyfriend Brad, have done a lot of the organizing. Some of us have helped with distributing flyers and handing out programs and stuff. There's a lot of people on campus who are trying to be informed, and politically active, and good allies for gay rights. 

When I'm a teacher I want to make sure no gay and lesbian (or bisexual) students are bullied at school and certainly not in any classroom I have control over. So this is all really valuable experience. For teaching. I might go with Dave to an ACT UP meeting in January. Just to, you know, see what they're like. 

Ugh. I see a guy across the lab trying to take the printer apart. I should probably go save his homework from his best intentions.

By the time you get this I hope you will have said yes to Chicago!!

-Dustin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a few footnotes for this chapter I will add tomorrow re: some of the 1980s/90s queer history stuff.


	18. Lilac (Steve)

December 16th, 1990

Hey Dust--

My place feels quiet and empty after spending the whole day with you yesterday. You were right: I have a Mountain Dew hangover that I'm currently trying to cure with over-brewed Constant Comment and stale Krispy Kreme donuts because I have to be at work at 2pm. Ugh. 

But it was worth it, to spend the day in Chicago with you. I hope you could tell I had a great time. I tried to -- I don't know what's okay to say or do anymore. All the guys I used to hang with in school … let's be honest, they tolerated me and they have no reason to anymore and I'm old enough to admit they're assholes. I always got along better with the girls which everyone, including me, thought meant I was really  into girls. Which … 

But I only know how to flirt with girls. How do men … know if you're interested? And how would I know if ~~you were~~ they were interested back? I bet that's something your friends Dave and Brad learn at their gay meetings. 

I can't picture going to anything like that. 

I don't think there's anything like that in Hawkins.

Instead, here I am, pathetically hung over from trailing around after you on what felt like the longest and best date of my entire life and there wasn't even any making out. I could have listened to you tell me about your favorite parts of the Field Museum for an entire week and it doesn't even bother me that my clothes still smell vaguely of lilacs from standing around in that Crabtree & Evelyn store. I kinda want to stuff that shirt under my pillow and just … keep it for the memories.

See you soon, I hope,

Steve


	19. Ochre (Dustin)

February 14, 1991

Dear Steve,

It's Valentine's Day, which means I'm covering for Tim in the computer lab, so he can take his girlfriend out to dinner. It's gonna be a quiet night here, I can already tell, with just a few of the foreign students in the Comp Sci grad program who are always here camped out at their usual work stations and us nerds with no dates getting homework done. You'd probably tell me to get out there and make some moves, or ~~no gi~~ nobody will ever know I'm interested. Sigh. I hear your voice in my head whenever I go out (no, you're right, not very often) telling me just to go for it. But. I dunno man. How do you know it's the right person? I never feel very sure, at least about the ones I meet around here. 

Maybe it'll feel different when I'm a real grown up out in the world with a job and an apartment and a cat and a life that isn't studying and stuff. Maybe the people I meet then will seem different. Serious? I dunno. It's not like I for sure wanna get married and have kids and buy a house or whatever but … Right now, none of them, none of the ones who've seemed interested … they seemed cool with something casual, and it was fun but not … I expected it to be more … 

Ugh. I shouldn't be writing you on Valentine's Day. You're probably to dinner with some chick you sold a car to, or met at your apartment building. I bet you helped her carry in her groceries or something. And then made her some of those amazing cookies you fed me at Christmas because daaaamn those were good. And of course she said yes to a date because who could resist a guy who makes the best chocolate chip cookies in existence? 

So she said yes and you're out at Morelli's feeding her tiramisu while I'm sitting in a stuffy computer lab unclogging the dot matrix printer and wondering if I'm doomed to eternal bachelorhood because I play D&D and I know that ochre is a specific shade of yellow. 

(According to Brad's homophobic asswipe of an older brother, it's super gay to know anything about color including that shades like "chartreuse" and "ochre" exist which … 1. nothing wrong with being gay and 2. nothing automatically girly and queer -- except he used the f-word -- about knowing your color spectrum. Major eyroll.)

Hey Black Sabbath is gonna be playing in Indianapolis over my spring break. Wanna come down? I can get cheapish tickets with my student ID. I'll call you to ask if you don't call me first.

Your lonely friend,

Dustin


	20. Ochre (Steve)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT NOTE: Steve describes a shitty sexual encounter in this letter in which both he and his partner are drunk and consent is dubious. He describes it as a not-okay situation. But if you don't want to read about it I'd suggest skipping along to the next chapter.

February 17, 1991

Hey Dust, 

It was good to hear you voice on the phone earlier. I really hope you'll be able to get those tickets for us!

I have a funny story to tell you about the color ochre. Who paints a restroom the color of piss? That dive bar over on 16th and Main, that's who: Mackie's. You ever go there, before leaving town? Probably not. You had better things to do than hang out there. I guess I do, too, now -- haven't been there for a couple of years. Maybe the men's bathroom isn't the color of piss anymore. But it was the last time I was there back in '89.

See, you'd just left for college and that really sucked. I was terrified you'd just split and we'd never hear from you again. Let's face it man: You're way smarter and deserve so much more than this shithole has to offer. I'll be lucky if you come back to visit your mom a few times a year and keep on writing me from wherever you end up teaching …

But anyway. It felt like I'd lost you but I didn't even have the words inside myself to say it that way, even in my own head. I just felt like shit and wanted to stop feeling anything for a while and I knew Mackie's could provide at affordable prices within walking distance from my parents' garage.

Turned out there was a huge bachelor party happening that night. I didn't know the guy, but he must've worked at the poultry processing plant cause there were a lot of guys there from the plant including Billy. And somehow he and I --

I'd had three beers on a mostly empty stomach and I think he'd been drinking tequilas. And he kept just getting in my space in this weird, aggressive way that felt like he was angry at me but we hadn't seen each other in months so I couldn't figure out why he'd be mad. And he wasn't talking much. He was just … 

It feels really uncomfortable and wrong to describe it like this. Is this how girls feel when they make out with guys drunk and then hate themselves after? He didn't force me to do anything. We were both just really drunk and I was missing you and who the fuck knows what was going on in his head? But he dragged me into the men's bathroom (I went willingly ... God that makes me sound like such a slut) and we made out and I -- he let me touch him, jerk him off. I'd worried it would feel gross, you know, when it came down to it -- touching another guy's dick. Like, does the idea sound hot but in practice it's very much not? But it felt … well, like sex, at least.

And that was a relief, let me tell you. 

I haven't actually kissed anyone since then. (No I didn't have a date on Valentine's Day.) It scared the hell out of me. The whole time we were making out, in that tiny closet of a bathroom, pretending it wasn't happening, I knew we'd never speak of it again. And I'd never felt so alone in my fucking life … and all I could think was how angry I was that you'd gone away and left me with this.

It's not fair of me to lay all this on you. Which is why I never send these fucking letters. You have a chance to get out, man, and you should take it. It's selfish of me to wish you'd stayed and been here to kiss when I finally had the balls to admit to myself you were who I wanted to kiss, more than Nance, way more than Billy, more and more every time I get one of your damn letters or talk to you on the phone or see you waving at the curb by the bus station. You're the one I like baking chocolate chip cookies for Dust, not some imaginary girlfriend. And I'll probably never tell you and you'll probably never care. 

But I'd take you out next year on Valentine's Day if you let me.

Also lonely,

Steve


	21. Silver (Dustin)

[A letter Dustin does not send]

March 27, 1991

Dear Steve, 

I haven’t written since the concert because it feels like everything I  want to say could just slip onto the page, somehow, no matter how careful I am. Maybe someday (soon?) I’ll be brave enough to tell you. But for today I'm gonna write it down and get it off my chest so I can write you an actual letter. 

It's that moment in the mosh pit I can't stop thinking about. Just at that moment in Planet Caravan …"Silver starlight breaks down the night … As we travel through the universe …" The way the crowd around us sorta lurched and there I was, suddenly, off balance and shoved back against your chest. It's your hands on my hips I can't shake the memory of: steady and firm and there longer than they needed to be if you just meant to keep me on my feet. Guys can only touch each other for so long, even in a mosh pit, and you … lingered. This wasn't an arm slung around my shoulder, or one of those stupid wrestling games straight guys start when they're looking for excuses to touch each other without throwing a punch. This was … you were gentle. And you were close. Pressed up against my back. I could feel your breath on my neck. And for a second all I could think was you were gonna rest your chin on my shoulder, slide your arms around my waist, and we'd just rock there, together, a calm heart at the center of this wild and thrillingly anonymous storm of bodies and lights and music. Right there in public you could have kissed me Steve and I would have --

\-- I don't know. Kiss you back, for sure, and anything else you wanted. I woke up hard three nights later from a dream that we'd ended up fucking right there. On the dance floor. In front of everyone, and no one, in a way that's (duh) only possible in fantasies. Your mouth on me  everywhere . Your hands, so gentle, but holding me still so I couldn't get closer and I couldn't squirm away. God. It's all I can think about now whenever I sit down to write you.

I think you felt it too. That's what I keep coming back to. I have no gaydar worth shit and I know you've dated girls but I also know guys who are bisexual and guys who dated girls because they thought it's what they  should want. And I don't think I'm making up that you touched me for longer then you had to that night. And held me like you might have held a girl you were on a date at a concert with. 

God, sometimes it feels like we're dating. Like we've  been dating. But if I say something and you're angry or disgusted or (would this be worse? sometimes I think it would be worse)  tolerant and try to be some sort of bullshit ally … all those options feel like they would hurt more than just keeping my mouth shut and hoping. 

Maybe someday soon I'll be brave.  Maybe someday soon I'll tell you.

Love,

Dustin


	22. Silver (Steve)

April 3, 1991

Dust--

You haven't written since I visited for the weekend. Fuck. I screwed up, didn't I? I thought I did. At the concert. During "Planet Caravan" when you stumbled and I caught you and didn't let go fast enough. I felt you notice. How still you went. I  wanted you to notice, and to want it the way I wanted it: Dancing together like all the other couples there. It would have been so easy, sliding my arms around your waist. Pulling you in against my chest. Pressing a kiss to the back of your neck, to your shoulder. I imagined, so strong it almost felt like it happened, how you'd turn in my arms and shimmy in even closer. Imagined what it would be like to kiss you and have you kiss me back. 

It was terrifying. So many people want to hurt guys like us so bad Dustin. You've always been braver and smarter than me. If you're gay you'll do it right: Out there fighting for people, going to protests, advocating for your friends and your students and yourself. I'm … just a guy who could barely afford to move out of his parent's house. If my Dad ever finds out I'm queer he'll go fucking ballistic. From the stuff I've heard him say about homosexuality, Dust, I think he'd probably be happier if I took one of his precious cars for a joy ride and totaled it. Or got cancer. 

I don't want  anyone to hurt you. 

I realized that night at the concert I also don't want anyone else to kiss you. 

God, I'm a mess. You should definitely stay away from me and the fact you haven't written in two weeks is fucking killing me even though I never write back and I could always pick up the phone to call but the only thing I want to hear you talk about is whether or not you wish I'd kissed you that night on the dance floor. Or that morning, late, when we got back to your place, and finally had a door between us and the rest of the world. Or when we woke up just before noon and there you were all soft curls and pink creases from the pillow case talking about how we could get build-your-own waffles down in the dining hall. I had to close my eyes against the need to get up from the inflatable mattress and crawl up onto the bed to kiss every goddamn inch of you. 

You're going places, Dustin. Places far away from assholes and homophobes like Billy and my Dad and the woman in Mom's Bible study who think being gay means you're not only going to die young but you'll probably go to hell when you do. Great-Aunt Dot had the right idea getting out and not looking back. I hope she and Lily had a great life.

Maybe before you get out for good I'll at least find the courage to kiss you. 

S.


	23. Turquoise (Dustin)

April 13, 1991

Dear Steve,

I hope April is treating you okay so far. Sorry I haven't written in a few weeks (you haven't called either so I guess we're even). I had a bunch of stuff due right after spring break, and I've been trying to get a student teaching placement in Hawkins which my advisor isn't keen on, so I had to pull together a bunch of extra letters of recommendation to argue my case. Keep your fingers crossed!

Feel free to keep the t-shirt you borrowed. It was always a little tight on me and I think turquoise is a good color on you. 

We've found two roommates to take Erik's and Julio's rooms for the summer session, so I'll be staying at this address until August and my phone number won't change. If you want to call for any reason.

I'm going to try and make it up to Hawkins between the end of exams and the start of summer term but I might not be able to. Ma is coming down here for Mother's Day and if I get my first choice for student teaching then I'll be in Hawkins all fall anyway. So I might not try for another trip. Sometimes being back in town feels ... hard.

You're always welcome to visit though! I kept the inflatable mattress Corey let us borrow in my closet and I even bought a set of sheets the right size down at the Goodwill. Remember: Down here in Terre Haute we have make-your-own waffles every Sunday!

Dustin


	24. Turquoise (Steve)

June 8th, 1991

Hey Dust--

It was good to hear your voice on the phone today. The minute I heard you on the other end of the line I was sorry I hadn’t called for so long. But then I freaked out thinking maybe you'd be able to tell how happy I was, listening to you talk about work and your roommates and the protest at the CDC and your biochemistry class, and it felt like I couldn't say anything that wouldn't give it all away. You probably thought I was bored. I wasn't. I never am, listening to you. Sometimes when I can't sleep I imagine calling you just so you can tell me about your day and I could fall asleep knowing you're safe, and happy mostly, and doing things out there in the world beyond Hawkins. It makes everything feel just a little bit easier, you know? 

I went to visit Gran on Saturday. I wore the shirt you gave me which felt a little bit like taking you along. Maybe as close as I'll ever get to introducing you to her. She seems really happy at the nursing home. She gets her hair done twice a week and told me all about the hymn sing on Wednesdays and the bingo night on Fridays. She assured me they don't gamble since it's "un-Christian" but if I had to guess she and the other bingo players have a lively underground betting pool. One of the nurses has a dog named Gus that comes to work with him that all of the residents love to coddle with treats. Gran keeps dog biscuits in a special pocket on her wheelchair even. His favorite kind, she said. The nurse is named Terry and Gran didn't say outright he was gay but she told me this story about Terry's "roommate" Ron who sometimes Emcees for bingo night and I got the feeling … Do you think she can tell, about me? It seemed like she was going out of her way to introduce me to Terry and tell me about Ron. And after the stories about Dot. I dunno. It was nice to see her. I think you'd like each other.

Maybe someday I could get a dog. Move out of this crappy apartment and adopt a Chocolate Lab like Gus. Labs seem like they'd be good around kids and old people which is cool. Maybe Dad would let me bring a dog to work if I trained it really well. It could be, like, a mascot for the dealership.

I hope you write again soon,

Steve


	25. Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a time jump between chapter 24 and chapters 25-28. In the interim Steve and Dustin have started dating, during Dustin's student teaching year in Hawkins, and although they aren't living together technically Dustin has mostly moved into Steve's apartment. See "Writing Letters" by Crowgirl for the get-together and my "By Morning Light" for the morning after. Both are part of the [Ordinary Things series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079279).

_Left on Steve’s kitchen table the morning Dustin leaves for Terre Haute at the start of his senior year._

September 5th, 1992

Dear Steve,

I just sent you off to work and thought I’d write you a letter before I left too, just so you had something to come home to at the end of the work day. I’m sitting at your kitchen table with a cup of coffee and one of those bran muffins you made on Sunday. I grilled it in the frying pan with butter like Wilma does at the Over Easy. (Your muffins come out even better than hers.) What would I have to bribe you with in order to get you to make a dozen of these for me every Sunday morning all year long? Then I could take them back to Terre Haute and have one with my coffee every morning, pretending we were playing footsie in our socks under the table here in the kitchen.

I know I said all this last night. But I’m gonna write it down too 'cause I know you don't always believe I'm 100% serious when we're in bed. I love you. I'm already missing you. It's going to be hard only seeing you on the weekends after we've basically been living together. I'm gonna worry about whether you're staying warm at night and I'm gonna hatewalking up evry morning to remember that I'm in a stupid twin bed alone. I'm coming back, you know that. After I graduate I mean (and every weekend during the school year too). If I can't get a job in Hawkins then I'll look nearby. We'll make it work. That's a promise. I know that's hard for you to believe, a lot of the time, but I'll believe it for both of us on the days that you can't. Remember: If your great aunt and her girlfriend made it to their golden anniversary then we sure as hell can.

And when your dad gets on your case, like he always does, remember that he’s got issues and they aren’t your fault babe. His fragile male ego bullshit is his own problem. If he can’t cope with a son who likes to cook -- and is really freaking good at it -- or knows more about wine than he does -- or visits his grandmother and learns how to knit that’s on him not you. I love it that you love to feed me. I love it when you talk sexy about vintages and notes and pairings. And I want you to remember, in detail, just exactly how much I love the Doctor Who scarf you knit me for my birthday. If your dad doesn’t see what a total badass you are that’s his loss. He doesn’t get to define you.

Remember that, even when I’m not here to remind you. Take this letter out and read that last paragraph as many times as you need to.

Next Friday'll be here before you know it.

Hang in there. I love you. We’ll make it through this year together. 

D.


End file.
